I know, I know, it’s been a long time. Sorry for the delay, but these last few weeks have involved three major trips: (1) Ohio for our son’s graduation, (2) Massachusetts for my college reunion (and a concert I directed), (3) New Jersey for my wife’s college reunion. I thought the tour was busy. Whew.
But wow — what a response!
You guys absolutely knocked me out. I counted 167 writing prompts from 125 writers! And I assure you, I read every single one, many times. You cracked me up; you made me shiver with tension. Do you have any idea how hard it was to choose only one, from all that talent?
I worried. I agonized. As I read them all, the bones of a story began to form in my head. I realized a lot of the entries, not just one, would actually fit nicely into that story.
So I used sixteen of them. You’ll see those entries in boldface. (Mine, of course, are in lightface type.) For those of you who weren’t chosen, don’t feel bad. Your entries were terrific! I tried to use as many as possible, but I had to stick with those that fit into this particular narrative.
Ready? Here goes:
THE FINAL QUEST
By Peter Lerangis (aka SwampHamster1), JoyfulSinging3, LightningCatacombs1, BreakingHurricane5, ArtisticAgent45, CleverReader3, EaglePurple20, SapphireIvy5, LordSaladin17, InfiltratingClassified19, DancingWolf5, DecipheringEnthusiastic5, ReadingDetective7, NimbleCobra8, AquaDragon501, and AgentCourier10
Location unknown.
Natalie was freaking out. Not only because she was kidnapped, but mostly because she was sweating. How could she have known that perspiration was the cost of rebellion?
To her left, Nellie Gomez hummed in her sleep. Or maybe she was groaning. Often it was hard to tell the difference. With a start, she sat up from the cold, hard floor. “Since when are there polar bears in Mexico?”
Natalie jumped. “Good grief, must your dreams be so vocal?”
“Oh ... hey, why so nervous, kiddo? ” Nellie said, drifting off again.“You did the right thing. Now get some rest.”
Nellie’s encouragement calmed Natalie just a smidgeon. But as she tried to sleep, all Natalie thought about was the photo for which they’d all had to pose — Nellie thrusting forward that dreadful lizard, Uncle Alistair holding up the large sheet of paper.
And the tiny message Natalie had secretly scribbled on Alistair’s note. The words that might be the hostages’ only chance at salvation:
RAH TO CHESTNUT TACO.
Surely Attleboro would understand the code. But would the Vespers notice first? What would they do if they figured it out?
You did the right thing ... Nellie had said.
Natalie hoped she was right. If not, their hours were numbered.
Attleboro, Massachusetts.
Zooming to one thousand percent, Sinead looked at the message board one last time. She then closed her laptop. “Guys, this is going to take all our brainpower.”
Dan Cahill looked straight into her eyes, and felt unsure how to word what he had to say. "I —I think Uncle Alistair is losing it. I mean, he’s a burrito guy, not tacos.”
“Obviously Alistair didn’t write that,” Jake Rosenbloom said. “It’s a different handwriting.”
“But what does it mean?” Amy asked.
“It’s an anagram.” Atticus looked up from a legal pad, where he had been furiously scribbling. “I think I’ve got it. But I can’t believe it.”
Sinead, Evan, Dan, Amy, and Jake gathered around to look at Atticus’s hastily written message.
Sinead blinked her eyes in disbelief.
CONTACT THE AUTHORS
“This is crazy,” Jake said.
“Unreal,” Evan added.
Sinead shook her head. “It’s brilliant. I don’t know why we didn’t think of it before. They’re the only ones who know where the hostages are. We must bring them here for interrogation — now! I’ll use the network to track them down.”
“We can’t!” Jake cried out. “We’re fictional, remember? Or so they think.”
Evan nodded. “If they see us, they’ll freak out.”
“We’ll have to ... ” Amy gulped. “ ... kidnap them. In disguise.”
Dan glanced at Amy, eyebrow raised. “Fine with me. As long as we’re not the Cliphorns again.”
His sister nodded silently, a glint in her eye, and he smirked.
Show time.
Paris, France.
Hamilton did not expect to be wearing a top hat and handlebar mustache at the Louvre. But only hours ago he had gotten the assignment — in the middle of a track meet. People had started yelling at him, but he didn't care. When the Cahills called, you listened.
His target was in sight, through the glass wall. But the guy was quickly heading out. Where was his sister Madison? She was supposed to be on this assignment, too!
The only hope of capture was to go directly through the glass. Hamilton looked around him. This was looking bad. The glass and red drops of liquid would surely draw attention. He suddenly heard a scream and ran. Glass exploded all around, and the panicked crowd instantly scattered.
In their midst was Madison Holt, dressed in a security uniform. “Smooth work, Ham,” she drawled, hunkered over a gentle, intelligent-looking figure. “Now, hurry!”
Quickly Hamilton threw Rick Riordan over his shoulder and followed his sister down a side corridor.
New York City.
Out of all the things Amy had to go through because of the Cahill family, she never thought being in a fashion show would be one of them.
Hiding in the bathroom of the Waldorf-Astoria, she took a deep breath and tried not to be scared. Just because three of the people they needed were in the audience, why did Evan have to ask a Janus fashion designer to put her in the show? “Because with all that makeup and style, they won’t recognize you,” he’d said. And then, turning red, he’d apologized for about an hour.
How could he do that? In fact, what he had done was the worst thing besides ... well, anything.
Amy couldn't help but sweat. But sweating seemed oddly appropriate for the business at hand.
She tried the door handle, but it wouldn’t move. Amy couldn't believe it. Someone had locked her in the bathroom, and this time it wasn't Dan. Her heart beat faster as tears streamed down her face.
As she prepared to kick the door out, it opened easily and another model peeked in. “Are you okay? You have to give the knob a jiggle, that’s all.”
“J-j-jiggle. Right.” Amy exited on shaky legs. As she walked backstage she almost tripped in her high heels several times. She would never normally wear her outfit out, but today was an exception. She finally sighed and walked onto the stage.
There, in the audience, were the three people they’d come to kidnap. Behind them, Jake and Evan were sitting together. Wearing ridiculous bowler hats and fake beards. As the two boys gazed at Amy, their mouths were agape.
Big help they would be.
Jake Rosenbloom had thought that at some point being with the Cahills might actually be fun. But when Amy had announced that they were going to an annual gala, with dances and people from Hollywood, he couldn't help but groan with disappointment.
Now, seeing Amy in her awesome outfit, he could barely think straight. The glare in her eye was so alluring. It showed a different side of Amy. It showed ...
“Who’s that in the gorgeous gown?” came a familiar woman’s voice from the seat directly in front of him. “She looks way familiar.”
Jake felt Evan’s elbow in his side, and he snapped to. In front of them, a head of luxuriantly thick red hair turned from one balding yet wildly handsome man to the other. Both appeared to be sleeping. “Huh?” said one, a trim fellow with glasses who immediately hopped from his seat. “Fashion show? Um, I feel like some ice cream. Peter? Jude?”
As the other guy bolted to his feet, slapping a baseball cap on his head, the woman glared at them both. “Please, Gordon, you guys can’t leave now — ”
Her sentence ended in a sudden gasp as the ballroom went pitch-black.
Now.
As Jake and Evan reached into their pockets for their vials, Amy was already in the aisle with hers.
In a moment, they were dragging three sleepy-headed scribes through the stage door.
Portland, Oregon
Pushing a hot dog cart in an armadillo costume probably wasn't the most stylish thing Jonah Wizard had done, but it would all be worth it in the end. In a city where the unofficial motto was Keep Portland Weird, he wouldn’t stand out at all. Which was crucial in this West Coast hotbed of Jonahmania.
“Get yer red hot armadillo dogs!” Dan cried out. He stopped by a pile of rubble, looked at a notepad in his hand, and stared at the side of the house in disbelief. Well, what once was the side of the house. “The festival was supposed to be here. But the place is gone.”
Jonah snatched the sheet from his hand and groaned. “Dawg, this is a print-out from the 2004 festival. Get with the plan.”
As he reached for his phone, Dan clutched his arm.
Jonah froze. A raucous crowd of screaming fans was sprinting toward them across a grassy quadrangle. It was a sight Jonah knew all too well. “How’d they recognize me?” he said, preparing to bolt.
Dan held him back “They’re not after you, dude. This is a book festival.”
Sprinting away from the fans, their faces taut with shock and awe, were Margaret Peterson Haddix, Patrick Carman, Linda Sue Park, Roland Smith, and David Baldacci.
“Bro,” Jonah said with a grin, “I think we hit the jackpot.”
Attleboro, Massachusetts.
A loud, theatrical voice echoed through the hallway. “I woke up, my mind blank. Where am I? I thought. What is this place? I couldn't remember getting here. I couldn't remember who the people were in the room. That is when I realized something else. I couldn't remember who I was.”
“You’re Peter,” Jude Watson grumbled.
The brown-eyed man moaned as he stumbled down the hallway, propped up between Jake and Evan. “Oh, sorry, I was talking in my sleep. I thought this was a dream.”
“It was a good story,” Jake said. “I write too. But I prefer third person. Like this: Ian Kabra hated many things: coconuts, reality TV, the smell of joggers, et cetera. But he could not find one thing in this world he detested more than Daniel Cahill right now — ”
“Knock it off!” Dan shouted.
“Coconut?” a groggy Gordon Korman muttered. “That’s my favorite ice cream flavor ... ”
Being the longest-legged 39 Clues author, Patrick Carman reached the HQ entrance first. His steely blue eyes widened in awe. One by one, the weary group gathered around him.
“What the — ?” Rick sputtered, staring at the vast room full of monitors and high-tech gadgets. “It’s ... exactly right.”
David Baldacci swallowed hard. “I guess Roland, Linda Sue, and I can use this as research for our books.”
“But we made you all up!” Margaret said. “All of this — it’s just ... ” Her voice trailed off. Her intended final word — fiction — no longer had any real meaning.
Sinead Starling swiveled toward them, turning away from a large-screen image of the hostages. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said with a smile, “we have a lot to talk about ... ”
And ... that’s it. Yup.
A cliffhanger.
What’s the ending? I don’t know!
But you do. I am so impressed by the fiction-writing firepower of this MB group, that I’m going to leave this for you to take over. I know you’ll all be full of different ideas, and I can’t wait to see what you come up with. Think of it as a parting gift, a little reminder of this journey to take with you. A piece of my imagination to mix with your own. This is it. No comments from me, no more prompts — it’s up to you!
I can hardly believe the tour adventure is over. I feel like we’ve been together on a nationwide journey. But there’s stuff I haven’t told you. Did you ever wonder who took the photos and filmed the videos? Well, it’s the amazing, multitalented team who also made the arrangements and booked the flights and the drivers and the hotels. In fact, they worked with me on ideas for the blog posts — and kept reminding me when they were due! They are some of my favorite people on earth and the best in the business — funny and friendly and creative.
Let me introduce you.
First is Charisse, the publicity director, who was in charge of the whole shebang. She oversaw every detail — not only 75 events but all the extremely complicated transportation and lodging. One word for her: awesomeness. Okay, some more words: hilarious, super-professional, and a world-class foodie (just like me). What other author is asked to shoot video in places like this?
Emma is new to Scholastic, but you’d never know it from the phenomenal job she did — not to mention her extreme patience when I dragged her into presentations. In addition to her friendliness and skills in publicity, she has become a world-champion nester of books.
When I learned that I would be driven (not flown) from Iowa City to Omaha to Kansas City during the tour, I blanched. But the car duties fell to Chris, who is Scholastic’s sales representative for a huge chunk of the U.S. How was the drive? We were laughing so hard I thought we’d drive off the road and into the corn fields. Plus, she found me a giraffe at the Omaha Zoo and thus became my new bff.
And of course, cheering from the New York office was our editor Rachel, who has made the books top-notch from the beginning. (Along with our behind-the-scenes but equally mind-boggling editor Mallory, who is revealed on the laptop screen!) Working with them is a dream come true.
There you are —MB friends, meet my Scholastic friends! I may not be blogging any more, but you know I will be checking in to the MB. All my warmest wishes for good health and fruitful lives. Thanks for keeping me company. You are the best. See you on the hunt!
So, take it away, Roland Smith. (Trust me, guys, you will be in good hands.) Meanwhile, beware the Vespers. And Vesper statues!
But wow — what a response!
You guys absolutely knocked me out. I counted 167 writing prompts from 125 writers! And I assure you, I read every single one, many times. You cracked me up; you made me shiver with tension. Do you have any idea how hard it was to choose only one, from all that talent?
I worried. I agonized. As I read them all, the bones of a story began to form in my head. I realized a lot of the entries, not just one, would actually fit nicely into that story.
So I used sixteen of them. You’ll see those entries in boldface. (Mine, of course, are in lightface type.) For those of you who weren’t chosen, don’t feel bad. Your entries were terrific! I tried to use as many as possible, but I had to stick with those that fit into this particular narrative.
Ready? Here goes:
THE FINAL QUEST
By Peter Lerangis (aka SwampHamster1), JoyfulSinging3, LightningCatacombs1, BreakingHurricane5, ArtisticAgent45, CleverReader3, EaglePurple20, SapphireIvy5, LordSaladin17, InfiltratingClassified19, DancingWolf5, DecipheringEnthusiastic5, ReadingDetective7, NimbleCobra8, AquaDragon501, and AgentCourier10
Location unknown.
Natalie was freaking out. Not only because she was kidnapped, but mostly because she was sweating. How could she have known that perspiration was the cost of rebellion?
To her left, Nellie Gomez hummed in her sleep. Or maybe she was groaning. Often it was hard to tell the difference. With a start, she sat up from the cold, hard floor. “Since when are there polar bears in Mexico?”
Natalie jumped. “Good grief, must your dreams be so vocal?”
“Oh ... hey, why so nervous, kiddo? ” Nellie said, drifting off again.“You did the right thing. Now get some rest.”
Nellie’s encouragement calmed Natalie just a smidgeon. But as she tried to sleep, all Natalie thought about was the photo for which they’d all had to pose — Nellie thrusting forward that dreadful lizard, Uncle Alistair holding up the large sheet of paper.
And the tiny message Natalie had secretly scribbled on Alistair’s note. The words that might be the hostages’ only chance at salvation:
RAH TO CHESTNUT TACO.
Surely Attleboro would understand the code. But would the Vespers notice first? What would they do if they figured it out?
You did the right thing ... Nellie had said.
Natalie hoped she was right. If not, their hours were numbered.
Attleboro, Massachusetts.
Zooming to one thousand percent, Sinead looked at the message board one last time. She then closed her laptop. “Guys, this is going to take all our brainpower.”
Dan Cahill looked straight into her eyes, and felt unsure how to word what he had to say. "I —I think Uncle Alistair is losing it. I mean, he’s a burrito guy, not tacos.”
“Obviously Alistair didn’t write that,” Jake Rosenbloom said. “It’s a different handwriting.”
“But what does it mean?” Amy asked.
“It’s an anagram.” Atticus looked up from a legal pad, where he had been furiously scribbling. “I think I’ve got it. But I can’t believe it.”
Sinead, Evan, Dan, Amy, and Jake gathered around to look at Atticus’s hastily written message.
Sinead blinked her eyes in disbelief.
CONTACT THE AUTHORS
“This is crazy,” Jake said.
“Unreal,” Evan added.
Sinead shook her head. “It’s brilliant. I don’t know why we didn’t think of it before. They’re the only ones who know where the hostages are. We must bring them here for interrogation — now! I’ll use the network to track them down.”
“We can’t!” Jake cried out. “We’re fictional, remember? Or so they think.”
Evan nodded. “If they see us, they’ll freak out.”
“We’ll have to ... ” Amy gulped. “ ... kidnap them. In disguise.”
Dan glanced at Amy, eyebrow raised. “Fine with me. As long as we’re not the Cliphorns again.”
His sister nodded silently, a glint in her eye, and he smirked.
Show time.
Paris, France.
Hamilton did not expect to be wearing a top hat and handlebar mustache at the Louvre. But only hours ago he had gotten the assignment — in the middle of a track meet. People had started yelling at him, but he didn't care. When the Cahills called, you listened.
His target was in sight, through the glass wall. But the guy was quickly heading out. Where was his sister Madison? She was supposed to be on this assignment, too!
The only hope of capture was to go directly through the glass. Hamilton looked around him. This was looking bad. The glass and red drops of liquid would surely draw attention. He suddenly heard a scream and ran. Glass exploded all around, and the panicked crowd instantly scattered.
In their midst was Madison Holt, dressed in a security uniform. “Smooth work, Ham,” she drawled, hunkered over a gentle, intelligent-looking figure. “Now, hurry!”
Quickly Hamilton threw Rick Riordan over his shoulder and followed his sister down a side corridor.
New York City.
Out of all the things Amy had to go through because of the Cahill family, she never thought being in a fashion show would be one of them.
Hiding in the bathroom of the Waldorf-Astoria, she took a deep breath and tried not to be scared. Just because three of the people they needed were in the audience, why did Evan have to ask a Janus fashion designer to put her in the show? “Because with all that makeup and style, they won’t recognize you,” he’d said. And then, turning red, he’d apologized for about an hour.
How could he do that? In fact, what he had done was the worst thing besides ... well, anything.
Amy couldn't help but sweat. But sweating seemed oddly appropriate for the business at hand.
She tried the door handle, but it wouldn’t move. Amy couldn't believe it. Someone had locked her in the bathroom, and this time it wasn't Dan. Her heart beat faster as tears streamed down her face.
As she prepared to kick the door out, it opened easily and another model peeked in. “Are you okay? You have to give the knob a jiggle, that’s all.”
“J-j-jiggle. Right.” Amy exited on shaky legs. As she walked backstage she almost tripped in her high heels several times. She would never normally wear her outfit out, but today was an exception. She finally sighed and walked onto the stage.
There, in the audience, were the three people they’d come to kidnap. Behind them, Jake and Evan were sitting together. Wearing ridiculous bowler hats and fake beards. As the two boys gazed at Amy, their mouths were agape.
Big help they would be.
Jake Rosenbloom had thought that at some point being with the Cahills might actually be fun. But when Amy had announced that they were going to an annual gala, with dances and people from Hollywood, he couldn't help but groan with disappointment.
Now, seeing Amy in her awesome outfit, he could barely think straight. The glare in her eye was so alluring. It showed a different side of Amy. It showed ...
“Who’s that in the gorgeous gown?” came a familiar woman’s voice from the seat directly in front of him. “She looks way familiar.”
Jake felt Evan’s elbow in his side, and he snapped to. In front of them, a head of luxuriantly thick red hair turned from one balding yet wildly handsome man to the other. Both appeared to be sleeping. “Huh?” said one, a trim fellow with glasses who immediately hopped from his seat. “Fashion show? Um, I feel like some ice cream. Peter? Jude?”
As the other guy bolted to his feet, slapping a baseball cap on his head, the woman glared at them both. “Please, Gordon, you guys can’t leave now — ”
Her sentence ended in a sudden gasp as the ballroom went pitch-black.
Now.
As Jake and Evan reached into their pockets for their vials, Amy was already in the aisle with hers.
In a moment, they were dragging three sleepy-headed scribes through the stage door.
Portland, Oregon
Pushing a hot dog cart in an armadillo costume probably wasn't the most stylish thing Jonah Wizard had done, but it would all be worth it in the end. In a city where the unofficial motto was Keep Portland Weird, he wouldn’t stand out at all. Which was crucial in this West Coast hotbed of Jonahmania.
“Get yer red hot armadillo dogs!” Dan cried out. He stopped by a pile of rubble, looked at a notepad in his hand, and stared at the side of the house in disbelief. Well, what once was the side of the house. “The festival was supposed to be here. But the place is gone.”
Jonah snatched the sheet from his hand and groaned. “Dawg, this is a print-out from the 2004 festival. Get with the plan.”
As he reached for his phone, Dan clutched his arm.
Jonah froze. A raucous crowd of screaming fans was sprinting toward them across a grassy quadrangle. It was a sight Jonah knew all too well. “How’d they recognize me?” he said, preparing to bolt.
Dan held him back “They’re not after you, dude. This is a book festival.”
Sprinting away from the fans, their faces taut with shock and awe, were Margaret Peterson Haddix, Patrick Carman, Linda Sue Park, Roland Smith, and David Baldacci.
“Bro,” Jonah said with a grin, “I think we hit the jackpot.”
Attleboro, Massachusetts.
A loud, theatrical voice echoed through the hallway. “I woke up, my mind blank. Where am I? I thought. What is this place? I couldn't remember getting here. I couldn't remember who the people were in the room. That is when I realized something else. I couldn't remember who I was.”
“You’re Peter,” Jude Watson grumbled.
The brown-eyed man moaned as he stumbled down the hallway, propped up between Jake and Evan. “Oh, sorry, I was talking in my sleep. I thought this was a dream.”
“It was a good story,” Jake said. “I write too. But I prefer third person. Like this: Ian Kabra hated many things: coconuts, reality TV, the smell of joggers, et cetera. But he could not find one thing in this world he detested more than Daniel Cahill right now — ”
“Knock it off!” Dan shouted.
“Coconut?” a groggy Gordon Korman muttered. “That’s my favorite ice cream flavor ... ”
Being the longest-legged 39 Clues author, Patrick Carman reached the HQ entrance first. His steely blue eyes widened in awe. One by one, the weary group gathered around him.
“What the — ?” Rick sputtered, staring at the vast room full of monitors and high-tech gadgets. “It’s ... exactly right.”
David Baldacci swallowed hard. “I guess Roland, Linda Sue, and I can use this as research for our books.”
“But we made you all up!” Margaret said. “All of this — it’s just ... ” Her voice trailed off. Her intended final word — fiction — no longer had any real meaning.
Sinead Starling swiveled toward them, turning away from a large-screen image of the hostages. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said with a smile, “we have a lot to talk about ... ”
And ... that’s it. Yup.
A cliffhanger.
What’s the ending? I don’t know!
But you do. I am so impressed by the fiction-writing firepower of this MB group, that I’m going to leave this for you to take over. I know you’ll all be full of different ideas, and I can’t wait to see what you come up with. Think of it as a parting gift, a little reminder of this journey to take with you. A piece of my imagination to mix with your own. This is it. No comments from me, no more prompts — it’s up to you!
I can hardly believe the tour adventure is over. I feel like we’ve been together on a nationwide journey. But there’s stuff I haven’t told you. Did you ever wonder who took the photos and filmed the videos? Well, it’s the amazing, multitalented team who also made the arrangements and booked the flights and the drivers and the hotels. In fact, they worked with me on ideas for the blog posts — and kept reminding me when they were due! They are some of my favorite people on earth and the best in the business — funny and friendly and creative.
Let me introduce you.
First is Charisse, the publicity director, who was in charge of the whole shebang. She oversaw every detail — not only 75 events but all the extremely complicated transportation and lodging. One word for her: awesomeness. Okay, some more words: hilarious, super-professional, and a world-class foodie (just like me). What other author is asked to shoot video in places like this?
Emma is new to Scholastic, but you’d never know it from the phenomenal job she did — not to mention her extreme patience when I dragged her into presentations. In addition to her friendliness and skills in publicity, she has become a world-champion nester of books.
When I learned that I would be driven (not flown) from Iowa City to Omaha to Kansas City during the tour, I blanched. But the car duties fell to Chris, who is Scholastic’s sales representative for a huge chunk of the U.S. How was the drive? We were laughing so hard I thought we’d drive off the road and into the corn fields. Plus, she found me a giraffe at the Omaha Zoo and thus became my new bff.
And of course, cheering from the New York office was our editor Rachel, who has made the books top-notch from the beginning. (Along with our behind-the-scenes but equally mind-boggling editor Mallory, who is revealed on the laptop screen!) Working with them is a dream come true.
There you are —MB friends, meet my Scholastic friends! I may not be blogging any more, but you know I will be checking in to the MB. All my warmest wishes for good health and fruitful lives. Thanks for keeping me company. You are the best. See you on the hunt!
So, take it away, Roland Smith. (Trust me, guys, you will be in good hands.) Meanwhile, beware the Vespers. And Vesper statues!
This message has been modified by the moderator Jun 15, 2012
